


Læl Hæslen

by Concupiscence (MurderRose)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, Switches, Vampires, Witches, fashion history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26892199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderRose/pseuds/Concupiscence
Summary: Hazel, a tree lauded for its ability to ward off evil spirits.Kim Mingyu, a vampire known the fashion history world over for his meticulous memory and attention to detail.Lee Jihoon, a fashion historian.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28
Collections: Challenge 3: Supernatural





	Læl Hæslen

**Author's Note:**

> cackles with witchy joy. Merci to the mods!

Mingyu stalked down the stairs, cape fluttering behind him. He was late. He was really and truly late and this fussy little historian was not going to be happy. He was never happy, and if Mingyu was late, well, there would be nothing that his aging bones would be able to do to save him.

“You’re late.” Jihoon didn’t even look up from his tombs, quill rasping over the vellum at a speed that even Mingyu’s eyes had a hard time following.

“I’m sorry, I slept in, I had a coven meeting last night-”

“I couldn’t care less.”

Mingyu fell silent.

Jihoon looked up after several moments, dragged his eyes up Mingyu’s torso, taking in his freshly polished boots, pressed 15th century French breeches and last season’s silk shirt. He smirked, “Did nobody tell you that breeches fell out of fashion?”

Mingyu pouted, “I like them, they’re comfy-”

“Sit down,” Jihoon pointed with the quill, “I have questions. King Henri III’s Order of The Holy Spirit. Talk me through the clothes, how you put them on, how you took them off, how they were cleaned, everything. I want to know everything.”

Mingyu sat, careful to stay well away from the switch of wood lying innocently in the centre of the table, and told him. Explained that it took three servants to wash the uniform, that the midnight blue ribbons had to be replaced every three months because the colour washed out, that King Henri had five such outfits, and that they had to be worn in rotation so that they’d wear evenly. He talked him through the washing process, his hands absently mirroring the scrub and drag as he spoke, and then through the robing and disrobing rituals with such attention to detail that King Henri himself wouldn’t have been able to find fault with him, not that he often had done. 

Jihoon hummed and nodded, scratching away with his quill, every so often interjecting to ask a question about how the buttons had been polished or how they starched the ruffs, 

By the time Mingyu finished, the sun was almost gone and he was thirsty. Jihoon looked up at him and put his quill down. He closed the manuscript and sealed it closed with a spell.

“Let’s get you something to eat, hm? You’ve done really well today, I have so much more information than we’ve ever had before. Thank you.”

Mingyu smiled, sinking into the chair as Jihoon gathered his things, slipped the switch into his coat pocket and opened the door.

“Come on.”

  
  


Mingyu was, in essence, blood drunk, giggling away happily to himself, hands locked tightly around a wooden goblet. He was watching Jihoon cook, thinking of all the ways he could do it better, of all the things he could teach him- But he had been asked to sit and drink his blood, that Jihoon had plans for him. 

It was fun, how riled up historians could get. And how none of them ever cared that he was Other, that he was Danger incarnate. Each and every one of his pet historians would just nod and say, ‘Okay, tell me about 16th century hair’ or ‘19th century heels’ or 15th century clothes washing’.

And some of them, some of his favourite pet historians, would do other things too. 

Some of his favourite pet historians kept hazel switches in their bedrooms, just in case they got scared.

But his favourite pet historians of all kept hazel switches in their bedrooms for other reasons.

His most favourite pet historian of all fed him wine and made him laugh and kept a hazel switch in his bedroom, bag, coat pocket, and kitchen drawer.

  
  


Jihoon peeled the breeches off him slowly, muttering to himself about how he honestly couldn’t believe someone was wearing a piece of history as if they were gym shorts. He listened when Mingyu told him how to fold them and store them, and threw a stasis charm on them for extra security.

He kissed him, licking the blood from the corners of Mingyu’s lips and tangling his fingers in the short strands of Mingyu’s hair, whispering tiny benedictions that sent tingles down Mingyu’s skin, tiny blessings that made him feel good, special, cherished, but also like he might start to smoulder.

“You’re so very good for me,” Jihoon whispered between kisses, “So knowledgeable and clever and perfect, handsome-”

Mingyu cut him off with a kiss, he was blushing too much and redirecting blood from where he wanted it to go, that wasn’t useful.

Jihoon laughed like he could hear his thoughts, or maybe Mingyu had been speaking aloud, he never knew.

  
  


Jihoon had Mingyu folded practically in half, supported with a spell and five pillows, pushing into him gently. Mingyu reached for his hand, eyes closing and sighing at the feeling of finally, finally!, being full, being safe, warm, cherished.

“The bestest little ‘pire.”

“The bestest historian.”

  
  


A trail of fire was burning itself down Mingyu’s skin, the hazel switch flicking all over his torso, each flick stinging like a red hot brand. He panted, eyes spinning as he tried to stay still.

“Want help?”

“Oui.”

And then he couldn’t move, could only blink and think and swallow. Jihoon’s talented hand brought the switch down again and again until his mind was just a red and white mess of pain-pleasure.

  
  


Jihoon cleaned the cuts and stings with holy water, ensuring they’d scar over and last for longer than half an hour. And then he spelled the sheets clean, climbed into bed behind Mingyu and held his wrist close to his mouth.

Mingyu’s fangs dropped and he resisted long enough to manage a slurred “You’re sure?”

“Of course, take what you need.” Jihoon pressed a kiss to the back of Mingyu’s neck as Mingyu’s teeth sunk into his skin, humming something that sounded faintly baroque.

He spelled the wound closed and wrapped his arms around Mingyu’s waist, “Sleep. You can cook for me in the morning.”


End file.
